


Gilded

by TearoomSaloon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Class Differences, Class System, Drama & Romance, F/M, Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/TearoomSaloon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone had two marks, one for class and another to identify a soulmate. She only had one: green rings on her finger, proof she was part of the laboring class. It made matters lonely, but never unbearable.</p><p>Until she met him. He had two sets of marks—had a soulmate—and she did not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Handed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks! Here is the much haggled-for Soulmate AU I've been sitting on for about two weeks now! There are going to be four sections to this, with the next three being longer than the introduction.

                                                                                      

She was green, the labor class. Green said her hand and green she remained. Green said the doctor at the orphanage when he looked over her marks, the thin little rings around the fingers of her left hand. They would grow thicker when she got older, but they would always remain the same olive-brown shade. The bands on her hand would dictate where she could go, what she could do, and with whom she could socialize. Her class was dictated at birth, same as everyone else’s.

 _Could be worse_ , the doctor had said. _You could be yellow, or rust_.

True. She could be lower on this already ridiculous totem pole.

There were people she passed every day with better classes, with worse classes. Some weren’t as lucky as she, unable to find employment or shelter in this rotten city. Some were far better off, with new leather boots and expensive jewelry. She’d kill for a pair of warmer socks when the winters came, but she was content with her small apartment and the shoddy job that paid her bills.

All of it was fine and accepted until she grew a little older and started to notice the ache in her chest. She could ignore it until the night descended and she was alone in the dark, the other side of her bed cold and her kitchen with barely enough food to feed one person, not two. Two, oh, that was the goal.

She didn’t have a soulmate. And there was no comfort to it. No “oh, you’ll meet them later,” or “you’ve got plenty of time,” because she didn’t _have_ a mark. Most people had two—one for class rank, one for a soulmate. She only had the one—green rings, labor class. She’d searched her body over and over for a second marking, something to say _hey! You won’t be alone forever!_ But each time, she came up empty.

It hurt more when she saw couples together, people with gilded markings to show that they had truly found love. She avoided going out most holidays, tended to stay in most nights. There were others like her—she’d met them—but the overwhelming majority of the population had a soulmate, and she, lonely forever, did not.

Not having a mark didn’t stop her from pining, however. She fell in love first when she was six, then fell immediately out of it when the boy she liked pushed her into the dirt. She didn’t have _time_ for such ridiculousness, not then and not ever. All the children around her had crushes until puberty. Some were born with their soulmarks, others had them come in until the end of puberty, all shades of the rainbow painting the skin around her. She waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing ever changed. The bands of green on her fingers got fatter, but that was all. Nothing more.

She dealt with her crushes in secret after that, never mentioning names or describing faces to anyone else. She was so grateful to get out of the orphanage and into the real world because it meant she could lie about not having a mark. She could go on dates and make up fibs about its location and maybe, if she were lucky, hit it off well with someone. The guilt of taking away a person not meant for her, however, slammed her hard, and by the time she was twenty-three, she had given up all romantic attachments and steered straight towards nothing more than carnal pleasure.

 

It was all fine until she moved into her current apartment and saw _him_ for the first time. Her building was new and crappy, seated beside an old elegant complex, the stonework next door impeccable and beautiful. Where her apartment was small, the one beside it was enormous, rooms spanning deep and far across the floor. Her bedroom looked into another bedroom, far larger and better decorated. She had never been truly jealous of the upper classes before, but looking into that room, her veins were on fire with envy. The bed was huge and plush, standing tall from the floor. More pillows than what must have been comfortable were arranged at the head, a throw blanket by the foot and an ottoman beyond. The dark wood of the frame matched the night stands. Dark reds brought the room into a sensual sort of mood, the lights always dim. Which was perfect for her neighbor, because he never seemed to go to bed alone.

He never seemed to remember the curtains, forgetting to close them whenever he had nightly guests. She would watch, a voyeur accidental at first, but continuing on to make a spectacle of it. She was never quite certain she wanted to be the girls under him or wanted only to watch from afar, never touching. The second would work better; she was never going to have an opportunity to lay hands on him.

There was no way he could know she saw. Or perhaps there was, but he was never paying close enough attention. It would be unfair to say a word. He wasn’t hers and he couldn’t be, so she was stuck wrapped in this painful game. He was a tall thing—absolutely beautiful—and from a different color class than she. The markings on his ribs were red-violet triangles, denoting him noble and important. The working-class green of her fingers deemed her unworthy of his touch, but gods above, she wanted to know those hands on her thighs.

To top it all off, he had a soulmate. Four orange stripes on the right side of his back would match with someone else. He was off-limits to her, at least. And he was _beautiful_. Dark waving hair cut just above broad, sloping shoulders that fed into strong arms. He had a thick core and a powerful chest, like an Adonis or some ill-fated hero in a Greek tragedy. Or a god. He brought equally gorgeous women home with him on the weekend nights, making love to them into the early morning hours. She watched in the dark from the beat-up armchair in her bedroom, touching herself to the pace he thrust, wanting so badly to know what it felt like to be the girls moaning under him.

She’d heard his voice once in the summer. He’d seen her face when their post got mixed up. The words had come out of his throat like a warm breeze in May and had cut the air straight from her lungs. If she could touch him once, she was sure she would combust.

She had her own sad little sex life, occasionally taking home sleazy men from the bars; people she could pretend were him for the few minutes the world felt all right. She tended to feel hollow afterwards, like she were making the hole in her chest bigger with each plug. It didn’t matter if they kept the lights on, because she always shut her eyes tight.

Then, one night, there was a change. He came home alone on a Saturday night, a first for all the years she’d lived beside him. She was sitting in her room with a bowl of oatmeal and a poor excuse for a novel, having sacrificed a bit of her spending cash for a meager source of entertainment.

He stripped his clothes and her eyes followed, his actions magnetic to her brain. He was stroking himself, aimlessly as he bustled about the room before settled onto the bed, continuing to touch himself in full view of her window.

Her mouth was certainly dry by now, face flushed. Without a second thought, she slipped her own hand into her underwear, growing wetter the longer she stared. Her eyes drifted shut for a pleasant moment, imagination inserting him into her room, turning her fingers to his. His breath, his eyes—

She imagined he must have been strong, able to pick her up and carry her as though she were dainty and constructed of feathers. She was tall but rail-thin, a product of not getting enough to eat as a child. He could hold her against the wall with ease as she clutched to his shoulders, her head back as she moaned little words, gave shallow breaths. Maybe he’d bite her throat and whisper dirty things to her, tell her everything she’d been fabricating with him since the start, since she’d first touched herself to the sight of him.

What would he taste like? Or feel like? She’d seen him, but distance made it hard to determine his size. She figured he had to be big, big enough to fill her fully, wholly, making her swear and tremble under him. She was ashamed to say she only imagined the sex, but thinking past that would ache too much, would hurt to commit to memory.

When she looked back to him, he was staring at her. _At_ her. Her light was on. She was in full view of him, masturbating to his pleasure. And she, she—

She panicked, shut her curtains, and sat in growing dread for the remainder of the night. She’d have to move, or drown herself, or change her face, utterly mortified. Would he report her? Or worse, _acknowledge_ what he’d seen?

In the morning she stayed locked inside with the curtains shut, mulling about coffee and her overwhelming embarrassment. A knock on her door called her robed from the kitchen, peeking through the crack before opening it fully, confused by the sight.

A man in a black suit handed her a rose and a small box wrapped in white string before bidding her a good day. Dumbfounded, she nodded and wandered back to the small breakfast table to carefully unwrap the gift.

Inside was a pair of gloves—dainty, soft leather, and more expensive than anything she owned—and the address of a high-class cafe across the city, somewhere her rank wouldn’t permit her to enter unaccompanied. She was to be there in two hours.

She raced to the bedroom and pulled her curtains open enough to show her face. His were open still and he stood in the room with a towel around his waist. He smirked at her, eyes like stars, before drawing the blinds.

This wasn’t happening.

She didn’t own nice clothing and _this wasn’t happening_. She threw open her closet and dresser drawers, trying to find something appropriate. Maybe she just shouldn’t go, avoid the embarrassment that was sure to come.

Actually, she hadn’t thought of that. Standing in the middle of her bedroom, fist wrapped around costume jewelry, she entertained the idea of this all being a setup. He’d sent a rose, sure, but what if he intended to publicly humiliate her after the nonsense she’d pulled? This couldn’t be safe. No matter what happened, this couldn’t be safe. She fished the pocket knife from her work pants and slipped it into the only purse she had that wasn’t threadbare.

Makeup was something with which she had little experience, but she made an effort to appear presentable. It was the least she could do, especially if she’d be walking off like a wounded animal when he finally called her out on her vulgar actions.

She left her apartment with her head high wearing the only dress she owned. It was clear she looked as if she were playing dressup like a child, but she tried to let the image dissipate, walking quickly through the streets. Her gloved fingers curled around the strap of her purse and she took a deep breath, ready to face whatever came next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Undermoonlit Skies](http://undermoonlit-skies.tumblr.com/) has some related artwork for this AU that'll be in the later parts. Go check out her stuff in the meantime!


	2. Touch and Go

There was a strange pain to the mark. Not a physical pain, but a deep, lonely ache. Something he felt in his shoulders and neck, a tingling that was both hot and insufferable at once. It burned, thinking about it, remembering that his fate was supposedly mapped out.

Nearly everyone had a soul mark. His was orange. Four straight-as-arrow lines ran across his right shoulder blade, dipping close to the violet triangles that designated his class (high born of an important noble line, a true blue blood on his mother’s side). His soulmate was supposed to have a mark that matched his in some way (and he had a soulmate because he had a mark), but he’d yet to meet anyone who fit the bill.

Tiring dates and long heated nights turned up empty and aching. None of the girls he’d met had started the right spark. None had seemed to match with him. When soul marks touched, they turned gold. After so many girls, so many times, his was still orange. It felt like it was about time to give up this game. They weren’t a be-all end-all. He could love someone who wasn’t his soulmate (though he had been told it wouldn’t be as good, he’d never click with someone as much as he’d click with the right one, the girl who’d been made with him in mind). As it stood, there seemed to be no one he was made for, body and soul. Everyone was just a little wrong. If he could find one more right than wrong, he would gladly settle.

And then he remembered her, the girl next door. The one who didn’t realize he knew she watched him when he came in with new hookups. Knew she lay in her bed, trailing wet fingers up an uncovered stomach when he gave himself up for a lecherous night. She was of a labor class (not someone he would generally take out since she would be restricted from most places than he tended to court) but she was pretty.

After last night, she knew he saw her.

He’d send her a flower. A peony, maybe, or a rose, and gloves to cover her class mark. She’d be a good lay at least with the way she hungered after him. She’d be attentive, unlike the last string of pillow princesses. It was worth a shot.

 

He arrived painfully early; he was ready to make any necessary arrangements to sneak her in if he had to. Gloves may have disguised her from other patrons, but the waitsaff and host could pick up on her lower class with more ease. It was a downright nuisance that the lower classes had markings in highly visible areas, like hands and faces. He was at least thankful that she didn’t have anything on her cheeks—that would have been a hassle to disguise.

This was a little ridiculous; going so far out of his way for someone he hadn’t even spoken to before. He realized he didn’t even know her _name_ , and she didn’t know his. How would she figure out the reservations…?

He got a table outside. It was breezy, but not so much that it was unbearable or intolerable. Enough that he was annoyed by his hair floating around his face. He certainly didn’t feel…nervous. At least, he hoped not. But it had been so long since he’d even considered a _date_ , not just a night ending in an awkward morning.

Gloved hands crossed on purse strings appeared in his line of sight and the girl in the apartment next door sat down carefully. Her smile was small and her eyes wary. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Rey.”

He bit his lip—did she think he was playing a prank? “Kylo. You’ve been evading me for months.”

She blushed. “Avoiding, or trying to. I’m sorry, I never meant to—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “It landed you a date. Unconventional, but not without merit.”

“Did you see?” she asked, indicating to the gloves he’d given her. “It’d be rich if you didn’t.”

“Caught a glimpse and made a wager. Don’t worry about paying, either; I asked you, I’ll cover the bill.”

Wide-eyed, he could tell she was reassessing her pre-judgments of him.

She was a mechanic, he caught over the first coffee. Mostly cars, but sometimes she dealt with bigger machines, like trucks and trains. She admitted in jest it was good he gave her something to cover the grease under her fingernails and the stains on her hands.

“They’re not pretty,” she warned when he asked to see them later—he didn’t believe that grease could be a _permanent_ fixture, especially not with a good amount of scrubbing.

“Never said they had to be.”

“What do you do?”

“Hedge funds. It’s like gambling in the sense that it’s all about odds.”

“Is it enjoyable?”

He sucked in a breath. “It’s exciting, if you’re interested in an all-stress job. Nice payout, but I swear I’ll be gray in the next ten years.”

“As long as it’s not a terrible job, a little gray isn’t such a bad tradeoff.”

He couldn’t complain.

She didn’t order anything aside from something to drink, so he followed in step and avoided the lunch he’d planned to have. It was rare that he took a girl out who refused to overstep with his money. It was refreshing in the same way it was a nuisance, but he didn’t expect to see her more than once or twice.

“Why don’t you come back to mine?” he proposed upon the return of his debit card. “There’s not much the two of us can do around here.”

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“I insist. Unless you want to part here?”

She bit her lip, debating. He had no intention of making her uncomfortable, but it would be a partial loss to not collect on the reason he asked her to coffee in the first place.

“I have work in the morning.”

“You’ll be home before midnight, I promise.”

The drive back was quiet. She kept her mouth shut when she took in the car, clearly wanting to leap into its specs and get a look at the engine, but she visibly reined in the impulse. It was cute in a way, like a child in awe of something grand.

He spoke first after ushering her through his door. “I know you’ve been watching me for months.”

Her cheeks sparked red. “I am so, _so_ sorry—”

“I kind of enjoy it.” He stepped closer to her and she stayed still as stone, calculating behind her hazel eyes. “I feel like I have to be on my best game because there’s always an audience. Unless, of course, you want to participate.”

“I can’t.”

He halted his advance. “You _can’t_?”

“We’re classes apart. That would be so _wrong_.”

“So? I invited you in; this isn’t some practical joke, if you’re still worried. You seem _fun_ , Rey,” he said softly, brushing the bare skin of her forearm. “I’m dying to enjoy myself for once.”

Her voice was lost in her throat. “Are you sure?”

God, _yes_ he was sure. He surged forward to kiss her forcefully, yanking her closer to his chest. In shock, she took a moment to respond. Her body worked quicker than her mind, legs rising to wrap around his hips when he pressed her against the wall. She was quick to use teeth, but it was subtle, lingering.

He made a noise when she tugged at his hair. She broke away, face flushed. “No good?”

" _Very_ good.” He nipped down her jaw.

With a quick smirk, she pulled again, her laughter turning into sordid moans as he sucked a mark where her shoulders met her neck. He snuck a hand up the hem of her dress, running hungry fingers up her sides, ghosting over softness of her breasts—

His cellphone went off. It buzzed on the countertop, chiming out an obnoxious ringtone that meant he was needed for something urgent. With a tremendous sigh, he let her down and slunk to retrieve it.

“I’m being called away,” he bit out when the annoyance on the other end hung up. “I apologize, sincerely. I had hoped this night would have gone a little differently.”

She was fixing her hair. “I understand completely.”

“I want to finish this at a later date.” He straightened out the collar on his shirt. “Sometime next week?”

“It’s fine—”

“I mean it. Are you free Thursday evening?”

“I should be.”

He nodded, following her out the door. “Keep it open for me,”

 

But Thursday she was called away—something for work, something only she had solid expertise in. She apologized profusely and they tried again for Saturday, but he was sent out of town for the weekend.

It took almost three more weeks, but at eleven on a Friday night, almost a month after the first time they’d truly met, she was lying atop his sheets with a smirk on her face, her dress still on and his tie in her hands. If he wanted it back, he was supposed to come get it.

She sat up when he rested one knee against the mattress. “This had better be worth the wait, Kylo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _did I fucking just_   
> 


	3. On the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...the soul neither exists without a body nor is a body of some sort. For it is not a body, but it belongs to a body, and for this reason is present in a body, and in a body of such-and-such a sort."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured, what the heck, I finished the next chapter so let's make up for this horribly-long hiatus in style. Chin up, for what it's worth, considering the events of today.

It felt surreal to be in his room, to be aware of how the satin bed sheets whispered gently against her bare calves. Her breath hitched when he pushed her back into the sheets, a conceited smirk on his face. He reached for his tie and she tugged it away, continuing the keep away game until he caught her, tossing the silk in some wayward direction to deal with in the morning.

Their clothes were still on, but the embarrassment of discovery had vanished—he knew she was of a labor class, was the reason she had been able to enter the restaurant tonight. After a month of odd flitting dates, they were finally here.

“Is that peaches I smell?” he asked, his face buried in her neck. He sucked a red spot on the hollow behind her ear before she could answer, any words she planned shifting into a small moan.

“Kylo…” His name was still like champagne on her tongue, after all these stolen nights.

“This dress looks uncomfortable, bearcat. Let’s get you out of it.”

He rose on his knees, pulling her back to her feet to let the borrowed silk trickle like rainwater down her skin. In underwear alone, she somehow felt naked under his gaze.

Kisses washed like ocean spray on her cheeks. “Something the matter?”

“I’m not…I don’t have a soul mark. I’m not going to match you.”

“I gave up on those superstitions long ago.” His lips left her face to burn against her throat and blaze a trail through the valley of her breasts, impeded by the gore of her bra.

She wanted to argue they weren’t old wives’ tales, that most people had them. He had one for god’s sake. But she kept her mouth shut, fingers instead easing the buttons of his shirt open. _God_ , this was the first time she really took him in at a near distance instead of a lecherous look through the window. His shoulders were broader than sin and his skin was warm under her fingertips.

He hummed as her fingers lazed down the slopes of his muscles, curling and sliding to run down his sides and settle on his hips. There was a pattern to his class markings, a simple alignment of the red-violet triangles that decorated his ribs. She brought her hands up his back under the material of his shirt, cataloging the groan of satisfaction that she was gifted in return.

“Do you have any idea how _aroused_ you make me?” he asked with an illegal purr, catching one of her wrists and dragging it slowly to the stiff outline of his cock. She slipped her fingers under the waistband of his underwear after making quick work of his pants.

His eyes flitted closed as she stroked him slowly, circling her thumb around his tip. The low groan he made sent shivers up her back, and she paused a moment to imagine it deeper, needier—the way he’d sound in a matter of minutes.

He pushed her more forcefully onto the sheets and climbed atop, yanking her hips into his so he could grind against her, the wetness in her panties growing with each fevered motion.

“I’ve wanted you so much for so long,” she admitted into the warmth of his neck, her legs drawn up around his hips.

Moving back just a little, he pushed the hair from his eyes and gave her a wickedly filthy smile. “Then I’m going to give it to you _long and hard_ , bearcat.”

She didn’t think she’d ever spread her legs so quickly.

He descended like a hungry animal, nipping ferociously at her neck while wander fingers slipped under her waistband, making her squirm. “ _Kylo_.”

“We’re just getting started,” he chuckled, Rising on his haunches, he must have liked what he saw, an eyebrow raising to accompany a huge grin. “Are you really this turned on?”

“You’d know better than I would,” she teased, sitting up to tug at his underwear, to get the last articles of clothing _off_ so they could finally touch skin to skin.

“If you’re so eager, why don’t you start?” He lay on his back, one hand firm on his cock, the other searching the nightstand for a condom.

“ _Gladly_.” Pushing his chest down into the mattress, she climbed atop his hips, angling him inside. _Fuck_ , it had been a while. It took a few moments to get used to the stretching sensation, concentrating on his grip upon her waist. She rocked cautiously, listening to the hiss of breath to escape his lungs.       

Slow did not last.

Within two minutes she was dragging him up, sliding up and down his cock with her hands anchored to his shoulders. He held her tightly against his lap, swears stumbling from sensation-drunk lips. He bit at her neck, tugged at her hair, until it was all too much and he overpowered her, toppling her back down into the sheets. Her legs up by his shoulders, he thrust down into her, making her toes twitch.

“You’re so fucking _tight_ ,” he moaned into her hair.

She could feel the muscles of his shoulders contract, never daring to dip her hands closer to his soul mark. Even now, _fuck_ , it was still on her mind.

The whine scraped from her throat when he withdrew was pitiful and needy. She glared up, trying to pull him back to her.

“On your knees, bearcat.” It was a growl, low and guttural. Without thinking, she obeyed, responding to the gruffness of his hands on her hips.

He went quickly now, fucking her well into the sheets. She felt one of his hands down her back before he pressed his weight onto her, smothering her from above. He bit into her shoulder when he came, fingers of one hand curled tightly around hers. His breath against her neck was hot and staggered, lingering for a moment before he collapsed beside her.

“And how are you doing?” he asked through a swimming head, pleasure still dancing in his eyes.

“I’m all right.”

"Just all right?” A wandering hand moved to palm her clit, making slow circles as he fingered her slowly.

“I’m _good_ ,” she whined, spreading her legs. She came quickly from his touch, body rolling with a heaviness like sleep. He stole the cry from her, kissing her forcefully through the waves.

His body heat left and it took far too much effort to sit up. She listened to his footfalls across the carpet and back, the soft pull of tissues from a box, and the crinkle of the sheets when he slid back beside her.

Strong arms came to cradle her through the haze, breathing labored and full of exhaustion. She wasn’t sure she’d felt so comfortable with another person before, her head tucked under his chin. Sure, he was classes above her and more important than she could ever hope to be, but he seemed to want to hold her close, giving a soft hum as he settled into the pillows beside her.

After a year and a half of distant pining, she was actually in his bed, an achievement she hadn’t anticipated. She’d finally seen his soul mark in its full glory, four orange stripes running from the top of his right shoulder blade trickling down to his ribs, just missing his class marks. Her fingers burned with the thought of touching it. His soul was linked to someone else, and she didn’t dare even graze a spot not meant for her. She’d take what she could get before his soulmate rose from the masses to take their rightful lover into their arms.

Even through the bliss of the comedown, she felt a little touch of hollowness, a small longing to have a soulmate. To have someone she could hold as closely as she hugged him, her face buried against his broad chest, one arm snaked around his waist. Someone to love her unconditionally, as she feared she would grow to love him. She squeezed tighter at the thought, willing such dreary ideas from her head.

His lips fluttered against her forehead. “What are you thinking about, bearcat?”

“Nothing special,” she lied.

“There’s something special about you, Rey. I can’t put my finger on it exactly.” The heat of his breath trailed into the streaks of her sweat-soaked hair. “Do you want to stay for breakfast in the morning?”

“You…want me to stick around?” Wouldn’t it have been a scandal if anyone saw her leave in the daylight? She was a labor class, someone who shouldn’t have any grounds to be courted by nobility, but here he was, defying all odds.

He tilted her chin up to kiss down her jaw. “Why would I have asked if I didn’t mean it? Yes, stay. I want you to stay.”

Her heart felt like it might collapse under such a gesture. It would hurt so badly when their expiration date finally arrived, but until then, she’d take everything she was allowed greedily. She kissed him sweetly before nestling closer, trying to stave off the pain of knowing he wasn’t for her.

* * *

 She was incredible.

Their lives were nothing alike, but they couldn’t stop talking, their words filling up space whenever they were together. He liked the quiet, too, when she’d rest her head on his chest and let out a content sigh. Never at a loss for conversation and comfortable in the silence—she was something new. The girls he’d seen over the years either lost interest in talk or didn’t want a break from the noise. Rey was by no means a sophisticated lady, but she charmed smile after smile on his lips.

After a month of seeing her, he felt himself start to open up to the idea of _something more_ , something tangible beyond the physical pleasure. He would buy her little things, steal kisses when he could, ask her about her day, and tell her how lovely she still looked with mechanic’s grease on her cheeks and the smell of motor oil clinging to her hair—things a lover should do. Things he hoped she appreciated as much as he enjoyed giving them.

“You’re going to get sick of me,” she joked one night on his sofa. She had a book in her hand and his head in her lap.

“On the contrary, I’m afraid I won’t get close enough unless I eat you up.” He surged up to pepper her with kisses, laughing when she swatted him away half-heartedly. “We should go out for dinner next weekend.”

"You can’t take me out.” She stroked his hair, pressed a saddened kiss to his cheek. “We’re classes apart; you know I wouldn’t be let into anywhere half-decent.”

“I can pull strings. I’m not going to hide you forever.”

“It would be better if you did.”

“ _Rey_.” He sat up with a tired sigh. “I _want_ to date you. That’s _my_ choice to do so, not society’s. We get on so well and I enjoy every bit of your company. Don’t make this about what anyone else will think, or what marks determine who loves whom—it doesn’t matter as long as we’re happy.”

“But I don’t understand how you can _be_ happy when—”

“Because I’m _choosing_ you. I’m not leaving this up to ‘divine intervention’ or whatever it is—it’s all hocus-pocus anyway. Aren’t you happy with me?”

She was quiet, a forlornness hanging in her expression. “Unbelievably so.”

“Then why is impossible to accept that I am just as happy to have you?”

She shrugged and drew in on herself. She kept hiding insecurities from him, stealing parts of herself away in hopes that he wouldn’t notice the cracks.

“Rey, don’t do this.”

“I’m okay.”

He pried her arms away from shielding her face, coaxing the turtle out of her shell. “You’re important to me,” he said softly with a kiss to her forehead. “And no pre-determined witchcraft is going to change that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of _course_ I’m sure. Christ,” he laughed, “do you see how hard I’m trying here?”

That earned a small smile. “It’s just so surreal that I get caught up in it sometimes.” She scrubbed at her eyes, wishing away tears he’ll forget he saw for her sake. “Nothing this nice has ever happened to me, so I keep worrying one morning I’m going to wake from a dream that was never meant to be.”

“You’re not dreaming. This is real, bearcat,” he said while pulling her into his lap. “You, me, the stars—it’s real, all of it.” 

* * *

 He didn’t let her say no to dinner. He showed up early to her apartment and whisked her to his amidst protests of _I’m not dressed properly!_ She was annoyed by his hands covering her eyes and the inability to see, but the surprise was worth it.

Hung in the middle of his walk-in closet was a blue silk gown, its arms bare and skirt long. She reached to touch the body of it with her fingers, to grace across the chiffon of the train.

His arms encircled her waist, kisses soft on her temple. “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

“Kylo, I appreciate the thought, but I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?”

“It feels…wrong. It must have been so _expensive_ —”

“Don’t worry about it. What’s important is how good this evening is going to be. We’ll kiss a little now, go to dinner soon, and then we’ll come home to a long, _long_ night of… _affection_.” He punctuated his sentence by skimming his hands down her sides.

She shooed him away to change, not wanting to show her face to such an upper-class crowd, but also wanting to please him. He was routinely good to her, and she had to make it up somehow.

Opera gloves were in order that night, black leather and more elegant than anything else she owned. He held her hand the whole walk through the main room, acting as a shield to deflect curious eyes. She was here with _him_ , and he carried far more weight than most.

“My mother is a princess,” he said over the wine menu. “My father isn’t nearly so important, but it gives me a good name. I’m recognizable, as much as I hate to be.”

“I didn’t know you were a prince.”

“I’m not. My father’s common.” He shrugged. “Royal politics are complicated.”

She attempted to make heads of that while he ordered a bottle for the table, something notable and far too expensive. In fact, _everything_ on the menu was beyond what she paid on her monthly bills. The charcuterie that eventually made its way between their plates was enough to wow her, and it started a worry about the dinner itself, how out of place she would look with the wrong silverware.

“I haven’t a clue which fork I’m supposed to be using.”

“You eat in,” he said simply.

“Still.”

He rolled his eyes and motioned for the second fork. “The other one is for salad. The one on top is for cake, if you so please.”

“Ask me again in an hour.”

She was…comically out of her element. There were so many _rules_ about table manners and etiquette that her head was spinning. She grew up in an _orphanage_. She was dirt poor as a child and she was marginally better off than dirt poor now. He would be rich from birth to death; he was unaware of how different things were for her. It was like being exposed in front of a full room, meant to be on display for a cruel joke.

“Can we leave after this course?” she asked midway through dinner.

“Is everything all right?”

“I just feel…uncomfortable.” It was picking her apart, exposing again the reasons why she wasn’t cut out for him. She hadn’t learned all this finery when she was a girl, and she would likely never fully understand it. This wasn’t _her_ world. It was his, but it wasn’t meant for her, too. Worry dug its claws into her heart and started to grow.

The ride back to his apartment was quiet. Stepping into the parking garage’s elevator, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for coming out with me, I know you weren’t especially at ease.”

In response, she tilted her head towards him, meeting his lips in a slow moment, a waltz. His hands reached to unravel her hair from its confines, smoothing it down her back before tugging on loose strands. It brought her a little closer, a little more interested in the scent on his skin. Fir, smoke, and something crystal cold—he smelled like an evergreen forest, and it suited him: tall, sturdy, and elegant.

They stopped on his floor and he guided her to his apartment, one hand wrapped in hers. When the door shut behind them, he was all but tearing his suit jacket off, encouraging her fingers to march their way down the buttons of his shirt, exposing pale skin to dim lights. He hummed when she nibbled his neck, encouraging her further.

His hands at her waist navigated her forward, pulling her slowly in time with his kisses. “I want to make you feel so good tonight.”

“Yeah? In what way?”

His kiss was sloppy. “Every way, from your cheeks to your toes. To show you how happy you make me.”

Happy.

The word felt bittersweet.

She wanted him to be happy, but he was lying to himself if he thought _she_ could make him feel that way. She wasn’t _meant_ for him—that was someone else. And that someone, that unknown girl still lacking a face, _she_ could make Kylo truly happy—not Rey. Never Rey.           

“I can’t do this any longer, Kylo.”

She detached herself from him, backing away from their messy path to the bedroom. The silk of the dress was tight on her chest and it burned her with the sting of knowing it was too great a gift.

He stood more than an arm’s length away with her lipstick trailing down his neck. His face broke softly as the words hit his eardrums. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s someone else out there for you, and I feel like I’m a homewrecker, standing here in your apartment, somewhere I have _never_ belonged, keeping someone who’s meant for you _away_ from you. I don’t want that. I can’t be the reason you break someone else’s heart, and I don’t want to be broken when you leave.”

He stepped closer, brows furrowed. “I’m not going _anywhere_ , Rey.”

“You will. She’ll step into your life and something will click, and all of a sudden, the whole thing will make sense. The world will come together and you’ll love her more than you could _ever_ love me, and I’ll be thrown to the curb. You can’t love me as much as you’ll love her. And I…I don’t want to fall in love, if I can’t have you.”

“You _can_ have me.” He stepped forward, pain flashing hard and quick in his eyes. “I’m not going to…to _run away_ because someone walks up and decides they match with me better than I fit with you. It’s up to _me_ to decide whom I want to be with. This stuff? These marks? They’re all _garbage_. They don’t dictate whom I love.”

“They’re _important_ ,” she insisted, willing herself not to cry. “I don’t have one, but _you do_. I’ve seen people who _are_ gilded, people who’ve found _the one_. Like I know you will. They’re happier than anyone I’ve met Kylo, and I don’t want to take that away from you. I _won’t_.”

He paused a long moment, looking as though he might crack and storm from the apartment. But he didn’t. He sighed and looked away, shoulders falling in a painful defeat. “Okay.”

Her heart fractured just an inch more. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. You’ve been on edge for a few weeks now, I just didn’t know it was about…” He stopped himself and ran a hand through his wild hair. “If that’s what you want to do, I can’t stop you.” He moved to hug her and she let him, bringing her hands to rest under his shirt on the smooth skin of his back. She was going to miss how warm he was, how protective and strong he felt under her. She was always safe when he was beside her, and once again, she would be lost. Alone. Back to what she belonged. “I’ve had fun, Rey,” he said as he kissed her cheek. “Thank you for giving me a few months of happiness. They were…beyond important to me. And I’ll…I’ll cherish the memory of you.”

She held back a sob, tears spilling hotly down her cheeks, staining the white of his collar. “Forget me, Kylo. Forget me and find her.”

“ _No_.” He pulled away, his eyes red around the rims. His kiss was sweet, sweeter than honey, thicker than the stars. “I’ll miss you, bearcat.”

With a sick heaviness in her chest, she cupped his cheek, looking up into his eyes one final time. “Good night, Kylo.”

When the apartment door closed on her, the gravity of her decision slammed hard on her shoulders. This was for the best, though. That’s what it meant to love someone, right? To sacrifice yourself for their happiness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	4. All That is Gold Does Not Glitter

He considered pounding on the door when it shut behind her, but he abstained. That wasn’t worth the bruising. He should have seen this coming, should have _known_. The moment she confessed her lack of mark was the moment he should have remained guarded. He didn’t care an inch for them—it was a mistake to get involved with someone who held them to such importance, especially when she herself lacked one.

Hands through his hair, he sat heavily down on his sofa, sinking deep into leather cushions. This whole thing was so _ridiculous_. The first time in so long he’d actually started to develop feelings, and it all went to hell without him doing a damn thing wrong. Maybe he should have coaxed this out of her earlier. Or never asked her to stay in the morning. Could they have talked through this? Or would she have never changed her stance?

If she wanted to leave, she could leave. There was no use crying over it now. But _god_ did he feel like shit.

Maybe…maybe he should put more faith into his soul mark. Maybe there was a lesson to be learned.

* * *

 Sunday rolled in hard with thunder cracking the sky. She jumped awake, startled, throwing sheets from her bed. When her heartbeat slowed, she remembered where she was and sunk slowly back down on the mattress. In the early dark morning, she crept to her curtains and peeked outside, greeted by the sight of his closed. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, recalling the words she’d voiced the night before.

The dress hung carelessly over the back of a chair. She’d give it back eventually, once the spears of pain stopped ricocheting in her chest. This was for the best, anyway. For _his_ best.

With the taste of blood in her mouth, she rose to dress. Errands waited for no man, no matter the emotional state.

Cold and wet, she pulled on half-working rain boots and a coat to keep the wind off. She wore gloves on days like these, not wanting to hassle with questions about where she could and could not go. Most of the grocers and bodegas in the area knew her by face anyway.

The rain was falling quickly, but not quite in sheets. Umbrella tucked under one arm, she hurried from her block to the nearest bus stop, waiting in the frigid downpour. She’d _kill_ for a car. What a luxury. She’d never have enough money for one, and even if, it were unlikely she’d be approved for it. Fancy, a car mechanic would never herself drive even a beat up old junker on the street.

The bus was crowded and she should have walked. The stench of unwashed bodies mixing with rainwater funneled into her nostrils and tickled her gag reflex. She swore sometimes her head was so full of motor oil that she’d forgotten the smell of clean air, but she had _some_ receptors that still worked. Rey stayed on for less than half the trip, opting to take her chances in the rain instead of becoming dizzy from putrid fumes. At least the vile reek of garbage was something she could walk passed.

She shook water from her coat and umbrella before stepping into the dingy old bodega. The building was knit into a side street, the neon sign lit only halfway for as long as she could remember. Some of the produce here wasn’t fit to eat and most of the staff didn’t speak English, but it was familiar. She had worked here as a teenager when first moving to the city and knew the owner like an old uncle.

But god what she wouldn’t give to get out of this place.

She should have never tasted the finer life, never gone to places of wealth and class. It threw such a light onto her living situation that she’d never be satisfied to have just the basic things again. She’d been spoiled, and she _hated_ him for it.

She handed the clerk a meager amount of bills for the even smaller amount of food on the belt. The girl who took the cash reminded her of herself at that age—rail-thin, lank hair, but a spark in the eyes. A light that hoped for something better, some way out of this miserable existence. Rey was sure that glint was starting to fade from her own gaze, that reality was catching up with her too quickly to keep up.

It was time to accept fate—she’d already cast off her will last night. There was no moving up, or moving out. There was just survival for those in the lower classes. She was lucky to have a technical job, but it wasn’t ever going to progress to more. She wouldn’t own the garage one day, and she’d never _build_ the cars, just fix them. It was a silly dream to want him, to want anything better than this, and she’d already woken herself up.

Her rain boots leaked and soaked her socks of the dreary walk home. The storm didn’t end when she unlocked her front door and trudged in with her armload of food, enough for a few days. She’d have to work overtime for the next week and a half to cover the other expenses she’d been neglecting in favor of spending what little money she had on him.

 _No more frivolous affairs of the heart,_ she decided, sinking into the chair at her small table. No more pining, no more searching, no more going after things she couldn’t have. It wasn’t worth the heartache.

 

Work was far from slow the next day. She arrived at the garage at 6:45am and wouldn’t be out until quarter-past seven. Better to work long hours, better to keep her mind occupied. Grease-stained jumpsuit on over an oil-ruined shirt, she made her way to the black ‘59 Electra 225 halfway up one of the pedestal lifts.

"What’s wrong with this one?”

“Suspension. Owner says she’s not riding as smoothly as she used to.” Joe, her boss, was already taking notes. “Thing looks like the god damn Batmobile.”

“It’s not nearly stupid enough.”

“Regardless, check her shocks. I don’t think they’ve been replaced in thirty years.”

Rey nodded. “Any other damages I should look for?”

Joe’s eyes narrowed.

“This is Mr. Harold’s car, correct?”

“If you find any, don’t fucking let him know you know he’s been racing it. Old loon tore Michael a new one last time he brought it up.”

“Roger.”

The suspension was _awful_. She hadn’t seen something this awful in all her _years_ of working at the garage. Then again, they didn’t get a lot of drag racers. It catered to collectors, most of the employees having skill with specific models and makes. She was called in whenever someone came in with an old Studebaker, but she wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with Buicks.

By lunch, she was thoroughly fed up with the Electra. Too many parts hadn’t been replaced in years, so many patches where the paint had chipped off. What was the point of having a decently sized car collection if you didn’t tale care of it?

“You look peeved.” Richie, a mechanic only a few years older than she, plunked down across from her in the small break room.

"Have you seen the Electra on lift four?”

“No. Been too busy trying to un-mangle Calrissian’s GTO. What’s wrong with the Electra?”

Rey sighed over her sandwich. “ _Everything_.”

“At least the body’s intact.”

“If it weren’t, I’d have told Joe to stick it up his ass. Suspension’s shit, breaks have seen better days, and the undercarriage looks like it got dragged through a bed of rocks.”

“Harold must pay handsomely for Joe to keep letting him back; we don’t _fix_ racers. He’s lucky anyone here’s ever worked on a damn track.”

Rey packed up what was left of her sandwich for dinner in hopes of saving a little on food. “What’s happened to that car is a shame.”

“Hey,” Richie tugged at her arm when she rose to leave. “Who’s the lucky lad?”

 _What?_ “No one?”

“Your hand says otherwise.”

“My _hand?_ Rich, that’s my class mark.”

"Well it’s gold, girl. I don’t think it’s ever been gold before.”

Rey held her left hand up to her face, brain failing to make a connection. Gold? No, it was green; it’s always been a dull olive green. She’s had that mark since she was born.

“I’m just sayin’, I’ve never seen a class one that’s gold before.”

“It’s _green_.”

“Do I need to take a picture and _show_ you?”

Her nose wrinkled. “How the fuck’d you be able to afford a _camera_?”

“Jeez, don’t get so upset. Usually people are happy to be gilded.”

…Gilded?

Rey’s legs took off faster than her mind. She dashed across the garage to her boss, suddenly feeling frantic and sick. “Joe, I need to see my employment papers.”

“What the hell for?”

“I need to know where the state says my class designation is.”

“Why the—”

She thrust her left hand at him. “These were green when you hired me.”

“ _Shit_.”

She followed him back to his office, watching impatiently as he sorted through an old filing cabinet.

“Do you know how fucked I am if you got hired wrongly?”

 “No.”

“I’d lose the whole god damn shop. How the _fuck_ —”

“If it’s on my papers, the state screwed up, not you.”

“But why the hell would they screw up?”

“I don’t know.”

He yanked a hanging folder from the bunch and pawed through it, pushing her employment forms in her face. _Female. Middle-lower class. Olive green rings left hand, pointer through pinky. Apprenticed automotive technician. Has engine repair certification for oversized haul trucks._

“I still don’t know why you didn’t take up Frank’s offer at the open-air mine,” Joe said as he lit a cigarette. “It paid double this.”

Her hands wavered as she spoke, eyes down at the paper. “I was afraid I’d screw it up. The ultras are so big, there are so many parts…”

“So instead you came to work on classic cars.”

_Olive green rings._

"The state screwed up,” she said softly, displaying her gold-ringed hand. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

Her boss raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off.”

“I can’t. I need the cash and the Electra isn’t half done—”

“Well I can’t afford someone coming in here to do inspections and finding out you’re falsely employed.”

“Didn’t we already have those this month?”

“Month started two days ago. Tell you what, I’ll pay you today’s missing hours when you come back, but you have to get that cleared up with the labor department.”

“Please—”

“Scram, kid, or I’ll have the boys run you out of the garage.”

           

She went home first to panic. Dropped her food off in her fridge and went to pull her hair out in front of the mirror. What the _fuck_ was going on? Who the hell _was_ she? Everything about this was so wrong. She’d had her goddamn class marks since she was _born_ , what in the _fuck_ was happening?

Collected but not composed, she took the stairs in twos to the bottom floor, exiting the front and sprinting the few steps to his apartment building. It was so lucky the doormen knew her by face, and it was a miracle they let her in without him there. They exchanged a look at her worker’s slops but didn’t say a word.

He looked like hell when he opened the door. His bedhead was out of control and the bags under his eyes were dark and sunken. He was either not sleeping or working himself to death.

“Rey? _Shit_ , if you could wait a moment, I have the clothes you left washed—”

She thrust her hand at him, words caught like stones in her lungs.

His eyes widened. “What…?”

“Take off your shirt and turn around,” she demanded, forcing her way into his apartment.

With a look of befuddlement, he stripped the sweater over his head and faced the wall, his back bared to her. Her heart stopped a beat, air stuck in her throat. The lines on his shoulder blade were golden, shimmering dimly in the hallway light. Carefully, gently, she let her left hand trickle down his skin, gold meeting gold. Her palm burned pleasantly when she made contact, a sensation that spread down to her toes. His breath hitched, a shiver dancing across his skin.

He turned around, looking once again at her hand before laughing.

“I don’t understand what’s so funny.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Rey.” He chuckled again before slipping the sweater back on. “It never did.”

She was about to go off at him when he drew her close, hands comfortable and familiar on her hips.

“I told you before, I was falling in love with you already.”

“You never said it like _that_.”

“Maybe you just didn’t listen between the lines. Or, you were too caught up with the absence of lines.”

“What if you only felt that way because of this?”

“I like to think I chose you myself, this is just an added bonus to ease your mind.”

She accepted his kiss readily, lacing her fingers into his tangled hair. Only two days gone and her heart had ached so badly for him. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“I’ll only accept if you promise you’ll stay with me this time.”

“I promise,” she said before she pecked his cheek. “My work papers are wrong. My class mark isn’t what it’s supposed to be, and I never had another one, so…I’m not sure what to make of this.”

“You’re registered incorrectly, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“We should search for the other one then,” he said softly, taking her hands in his. “We’ll start in the bedroom.”

“ _Kylo_.”

“Don’t worry, I can take my clothes off, too.”

He corralled her in his room, not a step lost in their routine. Starting with the buttons on her jumpsuit, her peeled it from her shoulders and pushed it down to her hips. She took his head in her hands and brought him down for a slow kiss, feeling his heart beat against her chest.

“You’re for me,” she said softly, holding him close. “I can’t believe it.”

“I was always for you.” He tightened his arms around her waist.

“I’m just…I’m not sure it’s really hitting me yet. It’s surreal.”

“Surprised sometimes things do turn out the way you want?”

She laughed and moved to wipe a tear from her cheek. “This all started because you never closed your blinds.”

He shrugged. “Maybe that was on purpose.”

It took another few suggestions to get her undressed on top of the covers. He hovered above, kissing her neck, lacing his fingers with hers. She freed her left hand; let it drag up his back and to where his mark was. He pulled out of the kiss and let out a low moan before burying his face in her neck.

“I didn’t know that would feel good,” he said softly. “I thought the colors just changed.”

“Does it make you feel warm inside too?”

He nodded, hair tickling her nose. “It makes me so _happy_.”

Happy.

This time, she could pull him to her, grin, and accept that word. He made her so, _so_ happy. “Well? Aren’t you going to find this other mark?”

He started with her shoulders.

He kissed every skin-colored inch, rubbing smooth circles onto her hips as he held her steady in his lap. Her breasts next, then her arms, both places free of splashes of hue. He kissed down her ribs and up her thighs, going slowly, forgetting the point of this task. She was moaning under his tongue soon, her toes curled and back arched. He had to anchor her hips in place when a finger joined his lips in his mission to please.

She heard his voice through the fog of the climax, but the words were lost in space. She sat up in a daze, looking down the bed at the man who was finally, fully, hers. “One more time, sweetheart?”

“I found it.” He smoothed his thumb over an unspecific patch of skin over her hip. “It’s small, though.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“It’s kind of petal-shaped and pale peach. Should I get a flashlight?”

“Probably.”

After a moment of fumbling, he cast the white beam from his phone onto the surrounding area. It was small and faint, like she’d been kissed by a rose and it had left a tiny impression behind. It sat atop the very crest of her right hipbone, unassuming and easy to miss.

“I’m not familiar with that class color.”

Kylo sucked in a breath. “It’s not low, for whatever it’s worth. I know a specialist of sorts. I can make some calls, get you in to see him today, maybe tomorrow.”

“First, though, you’re going to get up here and let me get you off properly.”

 

Dressed properly but with terrible sex hair, she followed Kylo (somehow with good looking sex hair, the bastard) out to his car, hands laced together. She hadn’t a clue where they were going, only knew it took two short calls to arrange the appointment.

“What does your friend do, exactly?”

“He works in family records. Classes and bloodlines can be hard to keep track of. He’s private sector; the ones who work for the state are slow and lose every scrap of paper you give them.”

“How do you know him?”

“Funny enough, we grew up together.”

She sank back into the seat of the Audi, listening to the slow hum of music from the stereo. It was low and sounded something like jazz. Music was a luxury she wasn’t used to having, so it was a treat to hear.

“No matter what the outcome is, you’re still made for me, okay?” She turned her head towards him. “Not that my class deterred you before.”

“I’m yours.” His voice drifted like smooth notes, soft but sure. “I guess, in soul now as well as mind.”

They pulled into the parking lot in an office park, the buildings tall, white, and grand. The cars in the lot were mostly expensive and new—money worked here. It was a wealthier workspace than she’d ever seen. And it was intimidating.

“Poe won’t bite your head off,” Kylo said when he took her hand in the elevator up. “He’ll probably take one look at it and know exactly what it is and where you belong. We’ll get your papers fixed no problem.”

He spoke to the secretary while she looked around the pristine workspace. There was a fish tank in the middle of the waiting room and all the chairs were upholstered leather. This place was so _clean_. She couldn’t imagine working somewhere so… _nice_.

When her name was called, she and Kylo followed the assistant down a long hall and into a room behind a sturdy wooden door. His friend was in a handsomely tailored gray suit, hair slicked back with just enough volume to imitate a model.

“Ben Solo,” the man who must be Poe said with a grin, “it’s been a while.”

Rey’s eyes bugged. “Ben _Solo_?”

“Oh my god.”

“Your last name is _Solo?_ ”

“Dameron I’m going to _kill_ you.”

“Why the _hell_ hasn’t that come up in the—what—the _four months_ we’ve been seeing each other?”

“I _told_ you my mother was a princess!”

“Yeah, but you never said she was _Princess Leia!_ ”

“Don’t you think there’s a _reason_ I’m not going by my name? Any at all?”

Poe sighed. “Boys and girls, please. I’m not a couples’ therapist.”

“Asshole,” Rey grit as she elbowed her lover in the ribs.

With a roll of his eyes, Poe cut between her and Kylo and offered a hand along with a proper introduction. “From what Ben’s told me, you’ve been the subject of a little class identification error. Is that correct?”

“Yes. The rings on my hand used to be green, now they’re not. I had them before puberty, so when my marks were taken, they were considered for class, not soul.”

Poe took her arm gingerly, inspecting the golden rings. “But they’re clearly _not_ for class, are they? I assume he’s sporting your match. Pity, you’re a devilishly beautiful thing.”

Rey blushed ferociously.

“ _Watch it_.”

“Oh, Ben, please. I’m all about equal opportunity.” Poe chuckled and angled his response to Rey. “I pick on him because he’s so quick to anger.”

Kylo huffed. “Can you just—do what it is you do?”

"Sure. Get out." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Client privilege.”

Oh, no, that didn’t make her feel any better. “He can stay—”

“I insist—it’s part of the practice. Ben, she’ll be fine. Just go wait in the lobby.”

With a glare, he shuffled out of the room, making a final threat before stomping down the hall. When she was sure he was no longer in earshot, she let out a sigh.

“He’s tough to handle. Always has been. I take it this is stressing you out more than it should be?”

Rey nodded. “Everything’s been tossed upside down in a matter of hours.”

“I’ll get your papers fixed, don’t worry. Your headache is my business, and you're in good hands. Now, have you found a second mark?”

She tugged her shirt up to expose the little beige petal. Poe’s eyes widened a fraction and he bent down on one knee. “May I? I haven’t seen a color like this in a _long_ time.”

“Go ahead.”

He produced a magnification lens from his pocket and beckoned her into the light, inspecting the mark carefully. Poe rose with a sigh and a bemused expression. “And you’ve never noticed it before?”

“No.”

“And the other one has been with you since you can remember?”

“Yes. Is something wrong?”

“Well. You belong to someone important, and it looks as though they were trying to hide you. The more private the location, the higher the class, you know. I suppose it’s possible to coax a soul mark out early, though I’ve never seen it done.” He sucked in a breath. “The wrong people wouldn’t come looking for you in the slums, is what I mean.”

“I’m… _important_?”

“Fairly, yes. You didn’t grow up with your family, did you?”

She shook her head. Damn, he was good.

“You’re going to need a _lot_ of paperwork to get cleared. I’ll have to have you come back for interviews and a few statements. Do you know the orphanage you grew up in?”

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s there anymore.”

“Dammit. Can’t be helped, I guess. This could end up taking more than a week to do.”

“What about my job?”

He looked at her dumbfounded. “You can get whatever job you want when this gets into your documents.”

“My boss is expecting me back though,” she said quickly, words bouncing right off her understanding. This wasn’t happening. “And I kind of like what I do.”

“Leave the office phone with me, I’ll have my secretary make a call if that’ll make you feel better.”

“It would, thank you.”

“You’ve been working so below your class that I take it you don’t have a car. I’ll talk to prince grumpy about when he can bring you back so we can get this process started.”

Poe walked her back to the lobby and spoke to Kylo in a hushed tone. The men exchanged looks of surprise and Kylo glanced to her at one point, an eyebrow cocked into his messy hair. She stayed quiet until they were back in the car.

“You’re a high born,” he said softly, hands gripping the steering wheel. “You’re a high born and you were _orphaned_.” He turned to her, melancholia like a sickness in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, love.”

“It could be worse.”

“It’s _been_ worse. All your life, no one’s looked out for you, or loved you.”

Well, when he put it like _that._

He reached for her hand, took it into a crushing grip. “I’m not much, but I’m here now. I’m not leaving.”

She kissed the back of his hand before giving it back, ears trained on the warm hum of the engine. The drive was silent aside from a growing shower of rain, casting dark grey light down from the heavens. It was the wrong sort of weather for such good news, but the news was…confusing at best. A lot to handle at once, more than she wanted to deal with in a sitting.

When his key found the apartment door, she let him usher her inside, let him take the old ragged coat from her shoulders. Without a word, he started a kettle for her, his motions mechanical in their execution.

“What happens now?” she asked with a small voice, slipping into one of the sweaters he kept in the hall closet.

“You get reevaluated. You go through an interview processes, your blood work gets taken, someone tries to map out your family line, and then you’ll be reassigned. It’ll be a clinical, impersonal process.”         

“But what happens to us?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing changes.” He handed her a sun-colored mug. “You can move in with me, if you want, or we can find somewhere a little bigger than this later.”

“None of this class stuff changes _anything_?”

“Why would it? Did it change anything before?”

“No, but I haven’t a clue about manners, or etiquette, or just _anything_ that comes with this new…identity. I feel… _lost_.”

“So it’s not what you were expecting.” He sat down beside her, close enough that their sides pressed tightly. “I wasn’t expecting this either. Hours ago I thought I’d lost you for good, and now…this is turning out better than I could have planned. You know, you can _take_ etiquette classes, or read books, or whatever makes you feel better about this. Things change; there’s no reason to shy away from something new.”

“I want to keep my job.”

“You could be trained as an engineer now. I know you’d rather do that.”

“I like the garage, though. I get to work with a bunch of classics I wouldn’t otherwise touch. It’s…it’s like an anchor right now. Something that makes sense still.”

“You could make enough to own a few classic cars, you know. If you did something more lucrative.”

“Not right now,” she said and took a sip of tea. “I want the dust to settle before jumping into anything big.”

"Then by all means, I want whatever makes you most comfortable." He turned his head to her and brushed stray hair from her face, laying a kiss on her cheek. “I am so lucky to have you.”

“That’s my line.”

He chuckled and snaked an arm between her and the back cushions, pulling her into his side when she set down her mug. “This…relationship we have is not as smooth as I pictured it would be, it’s not perfect, but I’m perfectly happy anyway.”

She pressed a kiss below his jaw and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad to have you, too.”

He yanked her with him as he fell back across the length of the sofa. Cradled on his chest, she kissed him warmly, deeply, with all the affection she could muster in one gesture.

When they broke apart, he let out a small hum, tucking fallen locks of hair behind her ears. Content was a good word for how she felt, pressed close beside him. They were created with each other in mind and they fit together like stonework, sturdy and fortified in their love. For that’s what it was truly becoming, _love_. Something she never thought she’d have to hold in her arms.

“The easiest part of it is over,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “Now you have to get through meeting my mother.”

She rose on her elbows to give him a warning glare.

“I’m teasing. Mostly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the damn quickest I've written this many words at once. Thank you all for your patience, and another thanks to all who've left kudos and kind words, they mean so much to me.
> 
> This story wouldn't exist without my [partner in crime/half of my creative power](http://apolloisburning-rb.tumblr.com/), so many thanks to her as well!
> 
> I hope this has been a satisfying read, and I hope you're not too upset with me over how cheesy the twist turned out to be. Feel free to ask any questions you have about this universe; I've planned out a lot more than I've shown glimpses of.


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